Kids for Saving the Earth

Back in fifth grade, a few of my environmentally conscious classmates, with the help of a teacher whom they enlisted as an advisor, opened a local chapter of "Kids for Saving the Earth," a group dedicated to raising ecological awareness among youth. As with many organizations created by children (or politicians), our Kids for Saving the Earth branch functioned as a clique that bestowed fancy-sounding titles on the founder's friends (smacks of cronyism, no?) Joanna Solis was the founder, and president; her best friend Linda was treasurer; their friend Doris was the V.P. of Publicity.

Any apprehension I might have harbored about joining a club chaired by my elementary school archnemesis was overcome by my progressive personality, (and by my desire to try anything new, and the allure of being on the inside of a clique). Kids for Saving the Earth was open to anyone, so Joanna's antagonism toward me couldn't preclude my joining. It did, however, keep her from extending a cooshy position like treasurer, publicity director, or secretary of Health and Human Services to me.

Consequent to my joining, one day a week became dedicated to our afterschool meetings. We learned to bring canvas bags to the grocery store instead of using the tree-destroying paper or non-biodegradable plastic ones proffered by the supermarket chains. I began cutting up the plastic rings that hold six-packs together, to prevent birds from getting their necks and heads trapped in the loops. To save water, I switched from baths to quick showers; I brought leftover newspapers and aluminun cans to the meetings for recycling. We learned about the delicate balance of the ecosystem, and the cataclysmic consequences awaiting all of humanity if one precious species in the Great Food-Chain-of-Being became extinct.

Joanna's and my mutual contempt would have made all such productivity impossible, if not for the presense of Mrs. Bodger, our fifth grade teacher, and the club advisor. Outside the sanctuary of Kids for Saving the Earth, however, we were free to torment one another mercilessly. Because all the other members were associates of Joanna, this often left me most vulnerable to their predation. After one meeting, all the members were chatting, and I tried to join in the conversation.

"Butt out!" one of Joanna's friends said to me.

"Yeah, you're a boy," added another, the same way a Klan member might accentuate the word n*gger in that context to emphasize the absurdity of interacial mingling. "Don't you have any friends who are boys to play with?"

"Well, everyone else has gone home," I replied. The truth was that I didn't really have any friends; I certainly was not in the position to be gender exclusive, but it occured to me that admitting such a thing was somehow not in my best interest.

"Go away, find your own friends," Doris the (cruel) secretary said.

So I went away, not to find my own friends, but to cry, and lament my total lack thereof.

It turns out that I've since made my peace with Joanna, Linda, and Doris. The former is now married (and pregnant with her first child!) In fact, all four of us attended a Christmas party together at Joanna's house. Linda has a vague recollection of the incident described above, but the other two have no memory of it whatsoever. Despite their denial of this intolerable cruelty, the details of that day are still etched in my memory. I'm sure it had some profound effect on my development as a child, and most of the blame for my vices and shortcomings can be justly laid on their shoulders.